Broken Bubble
by Blue Mitten
Summary: Dick, who is still Robin, loses his memory. Bruce and Alfred work to bring it back.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to DC and I'm not making any money off of this story. Also, I write it the way it comes out of my head so the characters probably aren't in very good characterization. ;-)

* * *

"There's nobody over here, Batman. It's…"

_THUNK_

"Robin? Robin, answer me! _Robin_!"

"Sorry, Batman, but the boy is more interested in reading a book than talking to you."

"Bookworm, you devious devil! What have you done to Robin?"

There was no answer and Batman shoved his Bat-communicator in his utility belt. He was in the history section of the large library and Robin was in the fiction area, all the way on the other side.

"Excuse me, citizens, out of the way, please," he whispered as he weaved his way through several people browsing in the same aisle.

"Batman!" a woman exclaimed as he stepped around her. "My nephew loves you!"

"Shhhh," a man beside her admonished.

Dropping her voice to a whisper, she continued, "Will you autograph this book for him?"

The woman held out the book she had just taken off the shelf while rummaging through her purse for a pen.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I'm trying to find Robin. And that book belongs to the library."

With that quick but polite reprimand, Batman jogged away. The woman looked up, disappointed, and murmured, "I would have bought the book!"

Thirty-two seconds later, Batman rounded the corner of the last aisle in the fiction section. There was Robin, lying on his back with his left arm draped across his chest. The boy wasn't moving but Batman took note of his steady breathing as he crouched beside his young partner.

"Robin, can you hear me?"

The Boy Wonder mumbled some indistinguishable words then slowly opened his eyes.

"Wha'…happened?" he asked quietly.

The words were slurred and Batman was slightly concerned.

"I was hoping you could tell me, chum," the Caped Crusader replied. "You were saying that everything was fine over here but then you stopped talking and the next voice I heard belonged to Bookworm."

"Bookworm? Who's that? And, uh, why are you hiding your face?"

Raising his eyebrows, Batman responded, "I have an identity to protect, Robin."

"Why?" the boy inquired. Then he gasped, abruptly sat up and pushed himself away from his partner.

"Are you some…some kind of criminal?"

"What?" Batman exclaimed softly. "No, I'm – _we're_ – duly deputized agents of the law!"

Robin's eyes widened and he raised a hand to his face. He felt a piece of fabric and, following it with his hand, discovered that it was wrapped around his head.

"Why…what…who _am_ I?"

Now it was Batman who widened his eyes. Robin was glancing around as if searching for something and the hero immediately noticed the irregular-shaped bump on the back of the boy's head. He raised his hand to touch the injury but his partner, who was now staring into his eyes, flinched.

Dropping his hand, Batman stated, "You're Robin, the Boy Wonder. You're my partner; we fight crime together."

Confusion filled the light-blue eyes of the boy. This was going to take some explaining, Batman realized, so he went from a crouch to his knees.

"And who…who are you?" Robin mumbled. His voice was shaking slightly and fear joined the confusion radiating from his eyes.

"I'm Batman. We find and capture villains. Bookworm was here with you and something happened. Do you remember anything?"

"So you're a bat and I'm a bird?" the boy whispered skeptically.

"Well…it's a long story," Batman replied with a sigh. "Before we get into that, can I check you for injuries?"

"Why would I be injured?" Robin asked.

"I think you were just attacked by a villain…"

"Bookworm?" the boy interrupted.

Nodding, Batman continued, "I can see a bump on the back of your head but I need to know if you have any other injuries."

"Why should I trust you? Don't touch me!" Robin yelped quietly when Batman raised his hand to feel the bump.

Dropping his hand again, the Caped Crusader stated, "It's something we do after every fight, chum. I'm your partner, you can trust me. We've been working together for four years."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you? Maybe you're actually one of the villains!"

Batman sighed again. "I'm not, Robin, we're crime-fighters. I think we should discuss this in the Batcave. It might help you remember something."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" the Boy Wonder exclaimed. "You could be trying to trick me! I'm sure my parents have taught me about strangers!"

"Do you remember your parents?"

"Of course! They're…I, um…."

Robin trailed off and shook his head. He winced, an action Batman took note of, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I don't," the boy admitted softly, a touch of distress woven through the words.

"Do you have a headache?" the Caped Crusader inquired quietly.

The Boy Wonder opened his eyes and began staring at the ground.

"Yes," he whispered. Lifting his head, the fourteen-year-old connected his eyes with the dark-blue ones of his partner. Tears began sliding down his cheeks and Batman recognized the pleading look in the solemn eyes.

"I can help you," Batman stated. "You're confused and scared and hurt but, if we go to the Batcave, I can explain everything. There's also a man there who can help with the pain."

"But I…I don't _know_ you," Robin whispered despairingly. "Can you just, uh, call my parents or something?"

Shaking his head, the hero replied gently, "I can't call them, chum. And that's something that I can only explain in the Batcave."

Batman heard whispering coming from his right, his left and behind him. People were now surrounding the aisle, staring at the pair.

"He doesn't remember anything," a man muttered to the woman standing beside him. Batman frowned as the whispering increased in both speed and volume.

Standing up, he nearly growled, "Please, citizens, return to your normal activities. Robin is fine, he just got hit in the head. Everything is fine."

A woman at the end of the aisle tsked and shook her head. "You're lying to us, Batman," she murmured as she turned and walked away, joining the now-dispersing crowd.

"You're not lying…right?"

A quiet voice came from behind him and Batman turned around. There was a small girl, about six years old, staring up at him. Her wavy, blonde hair was framing her face and the light coming from behind made her look like a tiny angel. But disappointment outlined with betrayal filled her blue-gray eyes and she stepped around Batman toward Robin.

"It's okay, Robin," she said softly as she knelt beside him. "It's okay to not remember stuff. It happens to me all the time."

She smiled and lifted a small hand. Wiping some tears off the astonished face of the Boy Wonder, she continued, "But Batman will take care of you. He's nice, and he doesn't lie," she glanced accusingly up at the Caped Crusader, "so you can go with him. Don't be afraid."

"O…okay," Robin replied just as quietly. Her smile grew and her hand went from his face to his hair.

"Batman does this all the time," she announced as she ruffled the dark hair gently. "You guys are friends and he can help you."

This time her hand went from his head to his right hand. She grasped the green glove and stood up.

"Come on," she encouraged.

Robin slowly pushed himself to his feet. Dizziness assaulted him and he wanted to topple over but forced the feeling away. He knew that would scare her and she was the only person he could believe right now.

"You're my favorite hero," she stated sweetly. "You'll remember everything soon. You're smart and strong and, um, handsome."

Her small cheeks reddened slightly when she said the last word and she looked at the ground. Robin's left hand went under her chin and he gently lifted her face.

"Thanks," he said, "and you're adorable."

Her entire face lit up and, dropping his hand, she threw both arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly.

"After you remember everything, can we go to the park together? My name is Lisa Downey and I live by Gotham Central Park."

Robin grinned down at her. "We absolutely can."

"Thanks!" she squealed delightedly and raced away to find her mom.

Batman, who had been watching the exchange in amazement, carefully studied his young partner's face. It was still full of confusion but there was a tinge of confidence swimming in his eyes.

"Ready?" the Caped Crusader asked softly. The Boy Wonder flinched noticeably and Batman grimaced.

"Um…I guess so," Robin replied. "I don't know how much trust to place in the words of a six-year-old, but I'll go with you anyway."

"Okay," Batman stated.

The teenager swayed, closed his eyes and put a hand on his forehead. Batman reached out to steady him and, to his relief, Robin didn't pull away. Gently placing a muscular arm around the lithe shoulders, the Caped Crusader turned them around and guided his Boy Wonder through the library and out to the Batmobile.

* * *

**Twelve minutes later:**

Robin's eyes were open but they were filled with pain. He was staring out the windshield but taking in nothing. His hand was still on his head and he was mumbling to himself.

"We're here, chum," Batman declared softly as they pulled into the Batcave.

Robin started, glanced around and dropped his hand. Unbuckling his safety Bat-belt, the teenager opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle.

"Master Batman, Master Robin!" Alfred greeted them cheerfully. "Was your outing a success?"

"No," Batman stated flatly.

A look of concern filled the butler's face – Batman's voice had a slight warning tone to it and both heroes looked weary.

"Is this the, um, guy who can help with the pain?" Robin asked quietly.

Batman nodded and the Boy Wonder stared at the butler's face for a brief moment.

"Sorry, I, uh, don't remember you," he whispered, shame flitting around the words.

Alfred's eyes filled with shock. They moved from the face of Robin to the eyes of Batman, questions replacing the astonishment.

"As far as I know, he was hit in the head. Now he has a slight case of amnesia…"

"You call this a _slight_ case?!" Robin shouted, startling both men. "I'm pretty sure that not remembering who I am, or anything else for that matter, qualifies as more than a _slight_ case!"

"You don't remember…anything, young sir?" Alfred inquired, alarm filling his voice.

"Who are you, who is he, who am _I_?" Robin exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "And _where_ are we and where are my parents and why can't I go home and every single other thing on the face of this planet?!"

The Boy Wonder folded his arms across his chest and began pacing around the entire Batcave. He stopped by the Bat-computer and then the Batphone, momentarily gazing at them with a confused yet thoughtful look on his face, before continuing to pace.

"Well, Master Robin," Alfred began, "first of all, my name is Alfred. And you are Robin, a strong, intelligent, athletic and cheerful young man."

The teenager dropped onto the nearest chair and put his head in his hands.

"Why?" he whispered miserably. "Why am I strong and athletic? Am I some kind of athlete? What sport do I play? How can I be intelligent if I can't even answer those simple questions?"

"Oh, dear," Alfred murmured. Glancing at Batman, he asked, "Where are you going to begin, sir?"

Batman removed his cowl and Alfred nodded slightly. "I agree, Master Bruce."

Robin looked up at those words. "Master Bruce? Why did you call him that?"

He was staring at Alfred but movement to his right caught his attention. Bruce had placed his cowl on the nearest desk and was now walking toward him.

"Do you want something for that headache before I start explaining things?" the man asked as he sat in a chair that was four feet away from his ward.

The boy nodded slightly and Alfred immediately went to get some Bat-aspirin and a cup of water. He made a quick decision while in the medical area and grabbed a pack of Bat-ice from the freezer. Returning to his two charges, the butler placed the pills and cup in Robin's hand then held up the package of Bat-ice.

"May I hold this on the back of your head while you are listening, Master Robin? You have a large, rather nasty looking bump."

After washing down the medicine, Robin nodded and stated, "Okay."

Gratitude raced through his still-masked eyes and that caused Alfred to ask another question.

"Is it alright if we take off your mask, young sir?"

It was confusion instead of gratitude this time but, after a short pause, Robin nodded again. The butler carefully untied the black material and removed it. Dick Grayson blinked a few times then connected his eyes with those of Bruce Wayne.

"I'm going to start at the very beginning," Bruce stated as Alfred gently pushed the ice against the boy's head. "Your name is Richard John Grayson, although you go by Dick. Your parents are John and Mary Grayson. You were growing up in a circus, Haly's Circus. You and your parents were trapeze artists, the most famous aerialists in the world. They were amazing and you had just begun to perform with them."

"Why are you using the past tense?" Dick inquired, a tinge of panic in his voice.

Bruce sighed before continuing.

"Something happened, Dick. They were performing and the trapeze wires broke and they fell. Your parents were mur…"

The millionaire trailed off when Alfred quietly cleared his throat.

"Your parents died," Bruce amended. "You became an orphan and I took you in. I'm your guardian and you are my ward."

Dick's eyes were wide and his breathing had become erratic.

"I can't…breathe," the fourteen-year-old whispered as he grabbed his chest.

Alfred began rubbing soothing circles on Dick's back and Bruce was by the boy's side in an instant, crouching in front of him. Grabbing a small hand, the millionaire placed it on his own chest and began taking deep breaths.

"Breathe with me, chum," he commanded gently. "Do it with me, Dick. In. Out. In. Out. That's right," he stated as the boy's breathing began slowing down.

Soon they were inhaling and exhaling at the same time. Bruce continued the action for another ten seconds, just to be sure.

"You're doing good," he murmured and Dick immediately pulled his hand away.

"Thanks," the boy mumbled.

The teenager's entire body was trembling slightly and Bruce glanced up at Alfred. Sympathy was in the older man's eyes but he nodded. Bruce stood up and returned to his chair. He didn't immediately continue, however, and Dick dropped his head.

"Go on," he whispered, his voice full of sadness and outlined with confusion. Placing his elbows on his knees, Dick laid his head in his hands and waited.

"I took you in…"

"How old was I?"

"Nine, chum, you were nine when it happened."

A strangled sob came from the boy's mouth and Bruce thought about pulling his ward into his arms. But he didn't think Dick would let him do that yet, so he pushed the thought away.

"How…how old am I now?"

"Fourteen."

"I can't even see their faces."

The mumbled words were thick with emotion and both men saw the glistening tears that began dripping onto the floor. There was a long pause but the silence wasn't awkward. Several minutes later Dick lifted his head. His eyes, still full of tears, connected with those of his guardian and he nodded.

"You can keep going," he stated softly before dropping his head back into his hands.

"Okay, you put up with me for about a year."

Alfred cleared his throat, louder this time. Bruce glanced up at him and the butler raised his eyebrows in disbelief. The millionaire sighed for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"Put up with you?"

The question interrupted the silent exchange between the two men.

"I wasn't very…I mean that I…you were just…"

It was Alfred who sighed this time.

"Master Bruce wasn't around very much for the first few months, Master Dick. He wasn't sure how to handle everything. What happened to you also happened to him, when he was eight."

"You were in the circus, too?" Dick inquired, looking up at his guardian again.

A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth but Bruce held it in check.

"No, my parents died when I was young. We had – have – that in common and that's the first thing that drew me to you. I was at the circus when it happened and I couldn't…they were going to put you in foster care and…"

There was another long pause and, unlike the last one, this one was awkward.

"And…" Dick prodded.

"The social worker…there was no room in any orphanage and you can't just snap your fingers and have foster parents appear. They were going to put you in a detention center, Dick. You wouldn't have lasted long in there; I couldn't let that happen. So, you went home with me instead."

"Oh."

A bit of fear filled his voice when a picture of a bunch of young criminals entered Dick's mind. The man – Bruce, his guardian – was right. A nine-year-old orphan wouldn't have lasted long in there.

"Uh, thanks."

Bruce did smile this time. "You're welcome."

"Sorry I interrupted you," Dick stated as he glanced back at Alfred.

"There is nothing to apologize for, Master Dick. Ask any questions you want to ask at any time you want to ask them. This is a lot of information for you to process."

Looking at Bruce again, Dick motioned for him to continue.

"I admit I wasn't around very much at first. You were so sad and scared and all the memories of my parents' death were becoming fresh in my mind again. I'm not the best when it comes to dealing with emotions…"

There was a chuckle from behind him and Dick glanced back again. The butler was smirking slightly and the boy didn't understand the joke.

"Okay, fine, Alfred, I'm not even on the charts!" Bruce exclaimed and Dick winced.

"Sorry," Bruce lowered his voice.

"Master Dick, by way of explanation, Master Bruce is excellent at bottling up all of his emotions and never letting them escape."

"Why would you want to do that?"

The question was directed at the millionaire, who scowled in annoyance.

"I…this isn't about me! Do you want me to explain your life to you or not?!"

The question was growled and Dick dropped his head again.

"You can stop, if you want. I don't want to be a bother."

Bruce huffed in irritation. The conversation wasn't going in the right direction and he needed to get it back on track.

"You're not a bother, Dick," he declared with a tinge of anger in his tone.

"Okay," the boy responded before getting up and walking away.

Bruce looked at Alfred, who was shaking his head in disapproval.

"What?!" the younger man demanded.

"Sir, he doesn't remember you. He doesn't know that your anger is not directed at him. To Master Dick, sir, you sound frustrated. Why would he think that you're frustrated with anyone besides himself? He doesn't know – doesn't _remember_ – your personality, sir."

Bruce roughly ran a hand through his hair. Dick was all the way on the other side of the Batcave now, wandering aimlessly around, so the millionaire turned to the Bat-computer. Before he could begin inputting information, a hand lightly rested itself on his shoulder.

"It would not be wise to ignore him, sir."

Alfred's gentle rebuke was quiet but firm. The faithful butler walked to the medical area in order to return the pack of Bat-ice to the freezer. Taking the advice, Bruce stood up and strode toward the pacing boy.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews sgtwist and OneAtHeart!

* * *

Dick was completely lost in thought. The teenager didn't even notice when his guardian began pacing beside him. So many emotions were rolling around inside him and he couldn't decide how he was supposed to be feeling. Scared? Confused? Miserable? Nervous?

"At least the headache is gone," he muttered.

"That's good."

The unexpected reply startled him and Dick immediately stopped pacing. He stared at the expressionless face of his guardian for several seconds.

"Yeah, thanks," he mumbled and abruptly raced away. He was on the far side of the Batcave before Bruce could even open his mouth to say anything.

The man frowned and began to follow. Alfred, however, held up his right hand to Bruce as he returned from the medical area. Bruce froze in his tracks as the older man walked over to the young boy, who was staring intently at the Batmobile.

"Master Dick," the butler stated, "I know this is hard for you but there is still so much you don't know. And there is something I need to explain, young sir. Master Bruce is not upset with you, he's irritated with himself. He is currently blaming himself…"

"Blaming _himself_?" Dick interrupted loudly. "There's no reason…it's not his fault I don't know who I am!"

"That's true, Master Dick, but he doesn't think like you do. He wasn't there to protect you from an attack and he can't make you instantly remember everything. It's frustrating for him because he's Batman."

"So…Batman is supposed to be perfect?"

With a slight grin, Alfred replied, "In his mind, yes. But to everyone else, he's _supposed_ to protect those he cares about, which he does. The innocent, law-abiding citizens of Gotham City and, most of all…you."

Alfred paused to let that sink in. He was receiving no reaction at all, which was very unusual. It was also slightly concerning.

"Also, he's rather terrible at dealing with any emotions," the butler added in an attempt to lighten the mood.

A Robin-esque smirk danced at the edges of Dick's mouth when he glanced at the man on the other side of the room. Then he looked back at Alfred and frowned.

"We live in Goth…sorry, uh…"

"Gotham City, young sir."

"Am I as bad as he is with emotional stuff? I mean, do I get all broody and clench my jaw like that?"

Dick tilted his head toward his still-frozen-in-place guardian, who was attempting to hear the entire conversation while appearing to not be listening.

Alfred laughed. "No, Master Dick, you do not. Brooding is Batman's way of showing emotion. You, on the other hand, can hardly ever contain your emotions. You are light-hearted and love to laugh. You're sarcastic and witty and smart and one of only two people who can get Batman to genuinely smile."

"You being the other one," Dick commented with a grin.

"Didn't I say you were intelligent, young man?" Alfred confirmed with a wink. "Do you think we can continue our previous conversation?"

Nodding his head, Dick called, "Batman, um, I mean…shoot…"

The last word was an angry whisper and Alfred quickly supplied, "Bruce."

Dick glanced at the butler gratefully and tried again.

"Bruce, we can talk again, if you want."

Shaking his head ruefully – how was Alfred so good at that? – Bruce rejoined them and they all sat down again.

"Where were we?"

"You saved me from being beaten up by a bunch of criminally-minded kids."

The comment was accompanied by a small grin.

"Right," Bruce replied with a similar smile.

"So, basically, I was a terrible guardian and Alfred took full care of you for a while. It was summer – the busiest time of year for Wayne Enterprises – and I usually left early and returned late."

"Wayne Enterprises?"

"Yes, I'm Bruce Wayne, head of the company and all that."

"You're a CEO? Is it a big company?"

"Yes, Dick," Bruce replied with a chuckle. "You're the youthful ward of a millionaire."

The boy's eyes widened. "You're a millionaire?!"

"Yes, Dick," the man repeated. "Do you want to talk about that or move on?"

"Sorry, it's just…I've never met a millionaire!"

There was a short pause then Dick amended the statement.

"I mean, I guess I have, since, you know, I'm here and everything, but, you know, I don't remember meeting you so now I am."

Sticking out his right hand, Dick declared, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise before grasping his ward's hand and shaking it.

"Why am I wearing these weird gloves?" Dick wondered aloud. "And why am I dressed like _this_?"

"That part is coming, if you want to be patient, or I can skip everything and just answer those questions."

"Gosh, I'm sorry," Dick stated, shaking his head. "I'll try not to interrupt anymore."

"Master Dick," Alfred began, "during this conversation you may interrupt whenever you need to. Any other time, however, please remember your manners and let others finish before you begin speaking."

"Anyway," Bruce continued, "I would get home late and you would usually be in bed. Then I would come down here and become Batman. Usually I went out and patrolled the city, taking down criminals and villains, but some nights I just worked on finding your parents' killer. The guy…"

Bruce was interrupted again, this time with a loud gasp.

"Kill…_killer_?! Someone did it on _purpose_?!"

The man had forgotten about that omission. Dick's head was in his hands again but there were no tears this time.

"What did I do?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean, Master Dick?"

"Was I a horrible kid?"

"No, Dick, of course not!"

"Then why…I must have done something wrong! Somebody murdered them!"

"And why, young sir, would someone's decision to commit that despicable crime be your fault?"

"I don't know," the boy mumbled.

Exhaustion surrounded every word and Bruce decided that he had said enough for now.

"Come on, Dick, I'll take you to your room. You need to rest, chum."

"No," the teen declared forcefully as he lifted his head. "Just keep going. Please."

A pair of dark-blue eyes carefully searched a pair of light-blue eyes. There was still confusion and sadness and fear. Now there was fatigue but also determination.

"You'll tell me when you need a break? If you get overwhelmed, you'll let me know?"

"Do I keep my promises?" Dick asked.

"Always, chum."

"Okay, then I promise I'll tell you if I need a break. Did you ever find the person who killed them?"

"Yes, and he's in prison for life."

"What did they look like, were they nice, was I as good as them, what kind of tricks did we do? No, forget it, keep going."

A sympathetic frown crossed Alfred's face. He decided that tomorrow would be a good day for a trip to the library. There were stories and pictures and books about The Flying Graysons in the Gotham City Library. For today, though, he would just get Dick's photo album from his room.

"If you'll excuse me, sirs, I'll be back momentarily."

Bruce looked at his butler quizzically but nodded his assent.

Alfred left and Bruce continued.

"You were the smartest nine-year-old I had ever met. It didn't take you long to find this place," the man swept his arm around the Batcave, "and then it was hard to keep you out of it. You instantly wanted to help in any way you could but what you really wanted to do was fight."

"Fight? I wanted to beat people up?"

"No, chum, that's not what I meant. You wanted to help me protect people and sometimes that ends in a fight. Well, usually, not sometimes."

"But I was _nine_!"

"Exactly. Which is why I wouldn't allow it. You didn't give up, though. You were, and still are, stubborn and figured out a way to get me to agree to train you and, eventually, become a young crime-fighter."

"I did?" Dick's eyes widened with pride and a grin lit up his youthful face.

"Yes, and it was one of the stupidest things you had, and have, ever done."

"Oh." The grin faded and the boy slumped in his chair.

"Don't misunderstand. I'm glad you're my partner – Batman will always need Robin – but the way you did it…that's the part I didn't like."

"What did I do?"

"You went out and found a way to get yourself kidnapped."

"On purpose?!" Dick exclaimed.

"Yes. I told you it was stupid. But you went and got kidnapped by Penguin, of all people! At least it wasn't Joker or Two-Face or Riddler."

"Who?" Dick was really confused – who went around calling themselves those names?

"They're villains, Dick, all of them. The last three are the most dangerous for you, especially Joker. He hates you. Well, actually, he hates Robin."

"I'm Robin, right?" Dick received a confirming nod and added, "So, I got kidnapped…"

"And found a way to escape, by yourself, with very few injuries. But it was three days, Dick! I spent three long days and sleepless nights searching for you. You scared the heck out of me, kiddo. I thought I'd lost you already."

"So that's why you blame yourself for everything?"

"No, Master Dick," Alfred laughed as he returned. "That's just his nature. I brought you this, young sir."

Alfred held out an old photo album. Dick took it and carefully opened it. The first picture was of an eight-year-old Dick and his parents, taken almost exactly seven months before they died.

"Are those…"

"Yes, Dick. John and Mary Grayson."

"They look so happy," he whispered.

"Well, they had you," Bruce replied softly. "And they loved what they did – flying on a trapeze, performing for hundreds of people night after night. They were happy, chum."

"And somebody took it all away from them. From _me_."

The teenager slowly closed the album without turning any more pages. There was a brief moment of complete silence then he shook his head.

"I'll look at this later…on my own, if you don't mind."

"Of course, young sir," Alfred quickly responded.

"So, you searched for three days and couldn't find me?"

"Dick, I searched all of Gotham City: every neighborhood, every office building downtown, every criminal hideout I knew of – and discovered several more while I was at it – and I even went swimming in Gotham Harbor.

I searched the surrounding area: the old circus grounds, Crime Alley, abandoned warehouses and anywhere else I could think of!"

"How did you find me?"

"I didn't! Near the end of the third day you came limping in the front door, all smiles and stubborn pride. You had a sprained ankle, a fractured rib, two dislocated fingers and a large bruise on the right side of your face.

'See, I can take care of myself!' That's the first thing you said to me and I almost lost it. You're lucky Alfred was there because I might have done more than banish you from the Batcave for a month. I had been so worried and you were so proud of yourself."

"But you have to admit that's pretty cool," Dick smirked. "I got myself taken so I could escape on my own and prove myself to you. It worked, didn't it?"

The fourteen-year-old pointed to his chest, where the bold, yellow 'R' lay over his heart, to prove his point.

"You foolishly risked your life on purpose at nine years old. You were untrained, completely naïve and had no sense of self-preservation."

"You still don't have the last one, young sir," Alfred commented.

"But, yes, it worked," Bruce admitted. "You were already strong and athletic from your eight years of training as an aerialist. I added some fighting techniques that you took to right away. Robin is not a normal fighter, Dick. You use speed and acrobatic tricks. You confuse the bad guys and are able to take on two criminals at once, three if they aren't too big. You're a sprinter; as long as they don't get a big head start, you can run down almost everyone you've ever met."

"Wow…" Dick murmured. "I'm that good?"

"Don't get a big head, chum," Bruce chuckled. "You're also good at being a distraction. You have two non-fighting trademarks: that smirk on your face and you enjoy taunting your opponent. And you're _really_ good at that. Even when you get kidnapped."

"I've been kidnapped?!"

"More times than I can count, kiddo. Robin has been taken more than Dick Grayson, though. There are a lot of villains who hate me and want revenge so they grab you and set traps. They know I'll come for you."

"Never give up," Dick abruptly murmured.

"That's right, chum. Batman says that to Robin all the time. And you never have. You've been through so many things but you're too stubborn to give up."

"Like what?"

"I don't know if you should go into that, Master Bruce," Alfred advised calmly.

"I agree with Alfred, Dick. There are things that you don't need, and probably don't want, to remember. But I do want you to know that you are strong both physically and emotionally. You have a very high pain tolerance and you pride yourself on being what you call 'shatterproof'. However, you don't listen to your body when it tells you that you're too injured to keep going and you have no sense of self-preservation, as Alfred mentioned before. You aren't indestructible – nobody is – and I really hope we never find..."

"Master Bruce!" Alfred exclaimed, horrified that his oldest charge was about to talk about breaking the Boy Wonder.

Bruce understood and closed his mouth. Dick didn't understand, but he also didn't push the issue.

"So I'm fast, athletic, strong, smart, full of good taunts, an excellent smirker and stubborn, which I'll just call determined."

Dick was full-on grinning and it was lighting up his entire face.

"You're also reckless, impulsive, and risk your life too much."

Bruce was attempting to look stern but the brilliant grin on his ward's face was making it very difficult.

"Isn't that what heroes do, risk their lives for others? That little girl, Lisa, said I was her favorite hero. Heroes save people, right? They don't just stand around and watch bad things happen."

"That's true, Dick, but Robin somehow finds ways to get into life-threatening situations even when there's nobody around to protect."

"Maybe you shouldn't make people hate you so much then."

Both men were momentarily shocked and then they began laughing. The boy had made a good point. Most of Robin's kidnappings were based on revenge.

"Do we ever fight each other? I mean, we have to, right? Otherwise how could you have trained me? Can we do it now?"

"Yes, we fight in training but, of course, we hold back. I don't think we should do it now, especially with the headache you've had and the bump on your head that's still quite large."

"I think that's a very wise decision, sir," Alfred stated, relief in his tone. "And now might also be a good time to stop."

Red circles were surrounding the teen's eyes and he was unconsciously rubbing them. A giant yawn escaped and Dick shook his head. He didn't want to stop but he was really tired.

"Let's go, chum," Bruce said. "You need sleep."

With a reluctant nod, Dick allowed Alfred to lead him toward the service elevator as Bruce put on his cowl.

"I usually don't allow uniforms in Wayne Manor, Master Dick, so don't get used to this."

A tired grin accompanied the nod this time. Batman waited until they were gone then turned to the Bat-computer. He needed to find Bookworm.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the review, DogsAreTheBest312!

* * *

**The next day:**

"Master Dick, are you awake?"

Alfred knocked softly on the door but received no answer. He knocked a little louder and repeated his question. There was still no response and he became slightly concerned. Dick was a light sleeper; usually it only took one set of knocking to wake him up.

"I'm going to come in, young sir, because you're not answering me."

The butler counted to five then opened the door. Dick was not in the bed. To Alfred's surprise, the bed was neatly made without a wrinkle anywhere. He went to the bathroom next but didn't have to open a door to look inside. It was wide open and there was no sign of the boy.

Alfred was becoming more than a little concerned for several reasons. First, Dick was _never_ up before anyone else. Second, the teenager _never_ made his bed. Third, there was no evidence that the boy had even been in the bathroom. Finally, the window leading to the side yard was wide open and Alfred distinctly remembered closing it last night.

"Master Bruce!" the butler called as he hurried out of the room.

Bruce was instantly standing at the bottom of the stairs. He had heard the alarm in Alfred's voice and watched in amazement as his butler nearly ran down the stairs.

"He's not in his room, sir, and the southern window is open. Master Bruce, he won't remember his way around the Manor or the grounds surrounding it!"

"DICK!" Bruce called, apprehension in his tone. "Go through the upstairs rooms, Alfred. I'll check down here."

Nodding, the butler went back up the stairs and began his search. Bruce raced through the downstairs rooms, moving quickly but observing everything as only Batman could. If Dick had been in any of the rooms, he had hidden his tracks well. But why would he do that?

"Have you checked the Batcave, Master Bruce?"

Alfred was right behind him and the millionaire turned around.

"No. I assume you didn't find him."

Shaking his head, the butler stated, "I'll go outside and check the grounds."

"And I'll take the Batcave. Meet you down there?"

"Of course, sir."

The men turned toward their respective exits and separated. Bruce thought about the service elevator but immediately tossed that idea aside. He ran into the study, twisted the hidden switch in the bust of Shakespeare and impatiently waited for the bookcase to slide out of the way.

"Please be down there," he muttered as he flew to his pole.

He landed on the cushion and took a cursory look around: no Dick or Robin in plain sight. Batman walked around the perimeter first then began checking behind and under the various Bat-machines.

"I couldn't fall asleep up there, so I came down here. Sorry if I worried you."

Batman was under the Bat-spot analyzer when he heard the quiet words. He immediately stood up, banging his head on the table in the process, and was relieved to see his ward sitting in the Batmobile.

The Caped Crusader touched the back of his head and winced. He strode over to the Batmobile and opened the passenger door.

"Out," he commanded, and Dick obeyed.

"What were you thinking?" Batman demanded. "We were worried sick! Alfred is outside looking for you, your window is open, we thought you had been taken!"

"Sorry, I had a confusing dream but didn't know where you guys were when I wanted to ask about it. It was kind of scary so I didn't want to go back to sleep."

Dick dropped his head and blushed. He was fourteen, he shouldn't be scared of a little dream!

"This was the only place I knew I would feel safe, your house is super dark, so I found my way to that elevator and…well, here I am."

Batman sighed and flipped on the Bat-camera viewing machine. Alfred was walking in the back door and would be joining them soon.

"Sit down," the hero stated as he motioned to the chair Dick had occupied yesterday.

The teenager glanced up at the man's face and, when he saw the anger in the dark-blue eyes, ran to the chair and sat down.

"Master Dick!" Alfred exclaimed in relief when he came out of the tunnel that led to the service elevator.

"Sorry, um…"

"Alfred, young sir," the butler said with a gentle smile.

"He had a nightmare," Batman immediately supplied as he took off his cowl. Alfred's smile turned into an expression of sympathy.

"I didn't…it wasn't…teenagers don't have nightmares!" the boy exclaimed.

"They do when they've been through something traumatic," the hero replied. "Do you want to tell us about it?"

Dick dropped his head again. "I…not really. Are you mad at me?"

Bruce was stunned by the question. Why would the boy think he was upset because of a nightmare?

"No, Dick, why would you ever think that?"

There was no answer, until Alfred spoke.

"You are, unintentionally I'm sure, giving him a Bat-glare, sir."

The dark-blue eyes widened and Bruce immediately stepped over to his ward. Crouching in front of him, the man put his large hands on the small shoulders.

"I'm concerned, chum. I didn't know…I'm sorry. I think we should talk about it, Dick."

There was hesitation in the boy's eyes and he slowly shook his head. Bruce inaudibly sighed and stood up. He ruffled his ward's dark hair before returning to his own chair.

"It might help, young sir. Usually your nightmares are about a singular event but if something else was in your dream then it could mean that some of your memories are returning."

"I have 'usual' nightmares?!"

"Every night for the first four months you were here. Then it became once or twice a week. When you first became Robin, they increased but have died down to about once or twice a month. You've been through a lot, chum."

"Every night?!"

"We didn't tell you," Bruce stated softly with a sigh. "This is going to be hard to hear, Dick."

"I can handle it," the boy whispered, trepidation in the tone.

"You were…well, you saw…"

"Just say it, Master Bruce," Alfred advised quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce said, "You were performing with your parents on the night they died. The wires broke while you were on the platform. You watched them fall thirty feet and hit the ground. I've never seen anyone, much less a young child, race down a ladder so quickly. Nobody could stop you from reaching them."

Complete silence reigned. It was somewhat uncomfortable, and Bruce wanted to break it, but Alfred caught his attention by slowly shaking his head. Dick needed time to process; when to continue the story was the boy's decision to make.

"Did I cry?"

Dick almost choked on the words as an image of the picture he had seen yesterday entered his mind. It shifted and the two adults in the picture were suddenly lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

"For a long time, kiddo," Bruce responded softly. "You refused to leave them, you held on so tight that only Mr. Haly could get you off. There was so much bl…"

"Master Bruce," Alfred admonished.

"Blood," Dick stated sadly. "I was covered in their blood. They were so broken, so lifeless. What did I do to deserve that?"

A strong memory replaced the image in the teenager's head. He slid off his chair and curled into a ball. Sobs wracked his small body as he watched his parents fall to their deaths over and over.

"Dick, I'm so sorry, chum. You didn't do anything wrong. A guy made a horrible decision and you were left with the consequences."

Bruce didn't care about being careful now. Joining his young ward on the ground, the man pulled the boy into his lap and crushed him into his own chest. Dick's hands latched onto his guardian's shirt as he quietly wept. They stayed that way for several minutes. Then it changed.

The teenager was reliving the experience as if it was the first time he had seen it. He screamed for his parents, yelled at them to wake up and finally pushed Bruce away.

"I need them!" he shouted as he curled back into a ball. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was full of panic.

"Don't go, please," he mumbled. The tears were gone but Dick's chest was heaving and he felt like throwing up.

"I'm so sorry, chum," the man repeated. He reached forward and brushed the dark bangs off the young face.

Dick suddenly stood up, grabbed the nearest chair and threw it across the room. There were several seconds of absolute silence as the boy realized what he had just done.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I can't believe I just did that."

The boy was strong; the chair had hit a wall that was over ten yards away. It had broken on impact and pieces were scattered on the floor. Dick sprinted over and stared forlornly at the former chair. He dropped to his knees and began grabbing different sections. Laying them out on the floor, he started putting them together like a puzzle.

Alfred and Bruce were staring at the scene in astonishment. Dick had never done anything like that, even when he was upset about something. They glanced at each other and silently agreed. Ten seconds later they were kneeling on either side of the boy.

"I'll fix it," Dick whispered anxiously. "I didn't…I shouldn't have…please don't make me leave. Do you have glue? I can fix it, I promise, I'll work all day and night if I have to, I won't eat or sleep until it's done, I can…"

"Dick, stop," Bruce commanded gently. "It's just a chair, we have a lot more."

"Nononono, I can't stop, don't be nice, I'm an idiot, I'll fix it, it was a mistake, please don't make me leave."

That was the second time Dick had asked to stay. His hands were trembling – his entire body was shaking – and he was having a hard time concentrating.

"You're not going anywhere, chum," Bruce replied, his voice full of compassion. "Come on, Dick, let's go back."

The man gently grabbed the boy's arm but Dick flinched away from the touch. He dropped the leg of the chair that he had just picked up and grabbed his head with both hands.

"I'm so lost," he mumbled, desperation seeping through the words.

"But we can help you, Master Dick," Alfred commented sympathetically.

The teen carefully lifted his now-aching head and nodded. All three stood up and slowly made their way back across the Batcave. Bruce grabbed a chair on the way and placed it in the empty space where the other chair had been.

Dick sat down but refused to look at the men. Concern was etched on their faces and he didn't want to see the pity that he was sure filled their eyes.

Bruce and Alfred, however, couldn't stop staring at the boy. His face was pale, his cheeks were full of dried tear tracks, his light-blue eyes were spotted with streaks of red and his body was still trembling slightly. Pain, confusion, sorrow and apprehension were fighting for control in his expressive eyes and he was twisting his hands nervously in his lap.

The tension in the room was palpable and the silence was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry…again," Dick stated softly as he stared at the Batmobile.

"Don't dwell on it, young sir. As Master Bruce said, it's just a chair."

"Can we, uh, skip the rest of that part of the story?"

"Of course, chum. You still haven't told us about your ni…dream."

Dick shrugged. "It's stupid and probably doesn't mean anything. This guy with green hair was laughing in my face, another guy was spouting non-sensical riddles and a third guy was hitting me with a baseball bat. His face was grotesque and he wouldn't stop."

Bruce sighed and ran a hand down his face. He was not looking forward to talking about various villains and the things they had done to Robin.

"It's not stupid, kiddo. Those are memories. The first guy is Joker. He hates you, like I mentioned yesterday, and is always trying to catch you so he can beat you into a bloody pulp."

"Can he? Beat me into a bloody pulp, I mean."

Sighing again, Bruce replied, "He has, chum, several times. You're strong and smart but he plays dirty. You have a scar on your chest; that's from him. He's broken your bones and torn your muscles and he loves knifes and I…"

There was a long pause and then he slammed his right hand on the table next to him.

"_Darn it, Dick, I'm never there for you_!" he thundered, the words echoing around the spacious room.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred exclaimed. "Your tone, sir!"

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to calm himself when he saw the expression on his ward's face. The boy looked terrified, his blue eyes wide and full of panic. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap and his breathing had become erratic.

Roughly shoving a hand through his hair, the man stated, "I'm not mad at you."

The words were full of frustration, everyone could hear it, but Dick nodded anyway.

"The second guy is Riddler," Bruce continued. "He's not a fighter, and he doesn't hate you. In fact, he is actually impressed with you. You are usually the one to figure out his riddles. It used to take me a while to find out what he was talking about but you usually have the answer after only a few minutes. One time it took you almost twenty minutes and you were so upset with yourself."

Bruce chuckled at the memory. "You refused to accept any praise, you said you didn't deserve it since it took you so long. The only other time I've seen you that mad was when Catwoman gave me a drug that caused me to fall madly in love with her."

"You _were_ very upset with that, Master Dick," Alfred chimed in with a slight chuckle of his own. "You yelled at your partner for nearly an hour, telling him that he shouldn't have trusted Catwoman, that she was always trying to get under his skin and so many other things."

The laughter of the men got no reaction out of the boy. He was unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck and his eyes were closed. Dick was trying so hard to remember but nothing was familiar. It was frustrating and irritating and he didn't feel at all like laughing with them.

Both men, of course, recognized this so Bruce resumed his explanation of the dream.

"The last guy is Two-Face. Half of his face is normal. The other half was burned by acid and he blames me for that. His way of getting revenge is taking his anger out on you. And a baseball bat is his favorite weapon.

Your memory is from a time that he captured us. He forced you to make a decision: save my life or that of somebody else. The guy has a coin that he uses to decide things. You called it, he flipped it and it landed your way. That was supposed to save the other person. But it was a trick and the man died anyway. Then Two-Face…"

There was another long pause; neither Bruce nor Batman could say it.

"He beat me with a baseball bat," Dick quietly finished the sentence as the described scene became clear in his mind. "I almost died."

"Yes," Bruce choked on that one word.

"But you got out of your restraints, you saved me!"

"Yes," the man said again, tears threatening to slide down his cheeks. "You were so limp, so bloody, when I carried you away. I wanted you to be done with Robin but you're so stubborn and you've proven yourself to me over and over."

Dick stared at him in shock. Alfred had told him that the man had no emotions. Yet here he was, his voice trembling as he struggled to hold back _tears_!

"Why are you crying?" the teenager asked.

"I almost lost you, chum! But you never gave up and eventually I came to understand that Batman needs Robin. You bring me back to the light when I turn to the darkness. You keep me _sane_, Dick. Batman needs Robin and Bruce Wayne needs Dick Grayson."

"Oh."

The word was emotionless; Dick was never emotionless.

"Can we stop for a while?"

"Of course, Master Dick," Alfred responded. Bruce was attempting to get himself back under control and was in no condition to answer the question.

"I think, uh, do you mind if I go up to my room for a little while? I didn't really, um, sleep well last night."

"I think a nap would be very good for you right now, Master Dick."

"Thanks," the boy whispered gratefully.

Slowly, Dick stood up but then he raced toward the service tunnel. A few seconds later, the men heard the distinctive hum of the elevator.

Releasing a breath, Bruce commented, "Thanks, Alfred."

"I think, sir, that he forgot his promise from yesterday," the butler stated.

"He did seem overwhelmed, didn't he."

It was a statement, not a question, but Alfred nodded anyway.

"At least some things came back to him. Being covered in his parents' blood, Joker, Riddler, being beaten by Two-face. Things that I wish didn't come back first but there's nothing we can do about that now."

"Were you able to find Bookworm last night, Master Bruce?"

"No, he's probably gone underground. Wouldn't you if you had given Robin a bump the size of Gotham City?"

"I would, sir, especially since _you_ were at the library when it happened."

"I can go out and talk to some people but I don't know if I want to leave Dick. Nothing against you, Alfred, of course, but I feel like I need to stay."

"I completely agree, Master Bruce. Dick needs you more than you need to catch Bookworm."

"He's right, Alfred. He's so lost and I feel like I'm just tearing him down. So far we've talked about his parents dying while he watched, villains who want to beat or kill him and reminded him several times of the fact that he knows nothing about his former life."

"You had to start at the beginning, sir, and you had to explain his nightmare to him. It's not your fault that the small memories he has regained are all traumatic."

Bruce sighed. Alfred was right, of course, but why couldn't he find something positive to tell the boy?

"You've also told him about his abilities, Master Bruce, and I won't easily forget the grin that lit up his face when he was listening to that."

A short chuckle escaped as Bruce replied, "Neither will I, Alfred. And that will come back to haunt us later, I'm sure."

With a slight grin, the butler stated, "And I will gladly accept the teasing if it means that we get our boy back."

Nodding in agreement, Bruce replaced his cowl and Batman walked over to the Current Criminal Activity Bat-disclosure Unit. Maybe Bookworm had slithered out of hiding and was plotting something.

Batman didn't think that a hit to the head could cause that much damage to the strong mind of his partner. Robin had received worse than the large bump that was currently residing on the back of his head and come out fine. It was very improbable, but the hero had to consider the idea that maybe the villain had done something in addition to that. But what?


	4. Chapter 4

Dick was on his bed, the photo album open in front of him, and staring at the first picture. He couldn't even remember the sounds of his mother's voice or his father's laugh. Did his mom tell him bedtime stories, did his dad play catch with him? Did he have friends in the circus? Where was he born?

The teenager wished that he could remember what had happened. Well, he knew _what_ had happened but he didn't know the circumstances surrounding it. The wires had broken, Bruce had told him that, but what had caused it? Bruce had said they were famous. Had that fame made them rich? Was it a jealous rival that had killed them? And, of all the memories he didn't have, why did he want to remember _that_?

Dick shook his head as he thought about the way he had reacted downstairs. After that little episode, he was sure that neither man would want to tell him any other details.

With a soft sigh, the boy turned the page. It was a small publicity flyer and his blue eyes widened. The two people in the foreground were his parents and they seemed to fly off the page. They looked so elegant and Dick saw in his mind a glimpse of a man catching a floating woman as she gracefully flipped through the air.

Had he been a good aerialist, too, the teenager wondered as he traced their faces with his right index finger. Bruce had said that Dick had been performing so he knew he had skills. But would he have grown up to be as good as them? What was his part in the performance?

The next picture was almost identical to the one on the flyer, although his parents weren't as clear. It had obviously been taken during a performance; there were various hands in the air in random places of the photo. But whoever had drawn them on the flyer had been able to capture the essence of their abilities. They looked…perfect.

Dick turned to the next page and a question was answered. Yes, he had been good. It was a picture of him tucked in a tight ball in the air. Someone had written a caption in blue ink: Dick practicing his quadruple flip before his first performance.

There was no other picture here. Instead, there was a long note:

Dick – today is March 20th, your ninth birthday, and you are about to make your debut! You haven't stopped talking about it all week; I think your birthday even slipped your mind. We are all excited for you and know you're going to be amazing. I can't wait for the world to find out your signature move: the quadruple flip! You already know this, but you're about to become the only person to successfully complete the move in a performance. Nine years old and you're going to accomplish something that nobody else can do! Your dad and I are so proud of you, Dick. We love you so much and are so happy that you can finally join us in doing what we love most – amazing hundreds of people with our artistry and athleticism. Let's go fly, my little Robin!

The note ended with "Love, Mom" and Dick slammed the album shut. Tears were flowing down his cheeks but anger was pulsing in his veins. He had been _happy_ and somebody had taken that away from him. And now, five years later, all he had was a few pictures and a note. There were no happy memories and he only knew the traumatic ones because Bruce had told him.

Pushing himself off the bed, he carefully picked up the album and took it over to his desk. He opened the bottom drawer on the left side and gently placed the book inside. Then he returned to his bed, grabbed a large pillow and threw it across the room as hard as he could. It hit a lamp on a short table that was next to what he assumed was the closet. The lamp tilted and nudged a picture on the wall.

Dick saw what was coming next and he raced toward the picture. But he was too late; the frame fell off the wall and hit the table. The glass shattered, sending shards in every direction, and the lamp tipped over. Both the frame and the lamp hit the ground but the sounds were cushioned by the carpet.

"No," Dick whispered with a tinge of panic in his voice.

He had already ruined a chair in the – was it called the Batcave? – and had now broken a picture. And, since Bruce was a millionaire, it was probably an expensive one, or one that was really important to the man.

Kneeling down next to the table, and not caring that his bare knees were on broken pieces of glass, Dick carefully turned the frame over. It was a picture of a man and a woman dancing. The faces were unfamiliar but that didn't mean they were unimportant.

A large piece of glass had stabbed the man in the left eye. Dick grabbed the piece and pulled but it was stuck. He narrowed his eyes and pulled again. The only thing he accomplished was slicing open the palm of his hand. Ignoring the pain, he turned the frame over and discovered the source of the shard's immobility. It had plunged itself through the hard wood and hooked itself under one of the clips used to hang the picture on the wall.

With a quiet yell of frustration, the teenager began working on unhooking the glass. Several minutes later it was free but Dick's hand had paid the price. There wasn't a single spot of flesh that wasn't red but, again, the boy didn't care. He had to take care of his mess before either man discovered it.

But he was too late again. Just as he finally pulled the large shard out of the man's eye, Bruce opened the door and walked in.

* * *

There was no information on Bookworm coming from any Bat-machine. Batman decided to take a break; it was lunchtime anyway. He strode to his Bat-pole, pushed the Compressed Steam Lever and shot himself up to Wayne Manor.

"Alfred?" he called as he exited the study.

"In the kitchen, Master Bruce," the butler replied loudly. "I would gladly come out there to speak with you but my hands are otherwise occupied. Unless you want burnt chunks of chicken for lunch, you might want to come in here, sir."

Bruce walked through the kitchen door with a grin.

"That is something I definitely _don't_ want," the man stated. "Have you seen Dick?"

"No, I assume him to be in his room, sir. Would you like me to go check?"

"No, Alfred. You work on keeping that chicken far away from crispy and I'll go get him."

"As you wish, Master Bruce."

The millionaire left the kitchen and climbed the stairs. He stopped at Dick's bedroom door and knocked. There was no answer so he tried again, a little louder.

"Dick? Hey, chum, I'm coming in," the man said loudly. There was still no answer so he turned the knob and walked in the room.

What he saw shocked him. Dick was on the far side of the room, kneeling by the table that used to have a lamp on it. There was red, a lot of red, all around him and he was holding a picture frame in his left hand. In his right was a long piece of what looked like broken glass. Bruce couldn't be sure, though, because it was mostly red instead of clear.

Dick looked back at Bruce with wide eyes. The boy looked like a deer caught in the headlights, if deer had flecks of red on their cheeks and fresh tears filling their eyes.

"What happened?" Bruce shouted as he raced across the room.

"I'm sorry," Dick said softly, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident, I'm so sorry. Are they…important to you?"

The boy glanced down at the picture and Bruce's eyes followed. He almost burst out laughing. It was a frame that hadn't received a real photo yet; the picture inside was a generic one that could be found in almost any normal frame.

But laughing wouldn't help the situation and the picture wasn't the most important part of the scene anyway. Dick's right hand was covered in blood and there were glass shards surrounding him. The piece Bruce had seen earlier had been dropped to the floor and the man could see a deep slice in the boy's palm. There were smaller cuts on some of his fingers but they disappeared when Dick squeezed his hand shut.

"Let me see your hand, chum. We need to stop the blood and then work on removing glass, if there is any."

"I'm so sorry," Dick whispered again. "Are they your…parents?"

The last word was full of both fear and shame. Bruce shook his head and reached out to take his ward's hand.

"I have no idea who they are, Dick," he stated while gently forcing the hand open. "We need to stop the bleeding."

Bruce stood and pulled the boy up with him. He put on hand on Dick's back and gently guided him toward the bathroom. Glancing back, he was dismayed to see a trail of crimson on the light carpet.

"Sit down," the man commanded, not unkindly.

The teenager obediently sat on the edge of the tub and Bruce grabbed the pristine, white towel off the rack.

"Sorry, Alfred," he murmured as he wrapped his ward's bloody right hand with the soft towel.

Bruce found the source of the rest of the blood when he stepped back. There were pieces of crushed glass in Dick's knees and shins. He made a mental list: tweezers, gauze, medical tape, a new towel and a small bowl to collect the glass.

"Stay here, chum. I'm going to go get some supplies but I'll be right back. Please just sit here and keep that towel wrapped around your hand."

"Shouldn't I fix the frame first? I mean, I'll probably get cut a couple of more times so why clean everything up when I haven't finished?"

Bruce crouched in front of his ward. "Dick, you're not going to fix it. The picture is meaningless and the frame wasn't being used. It doesn't matter. Promise me that you will just stay here."

"I always keep my promises?" the boy asked quietly as he dropped his eyes to the ground.

"Always, kiddo."

"Then I promise," he said as he lifted his head and looked into his guardian's eyes.

With a grateful nod, Bruce stood up and went in search of medical supplies. To his surprise, Alfred was standing outside the door.

"I heard you yell, Master Bruce, and then you didn't answer me. Is everything okay?"

Sighing, Bruce replied, "Dick accidentally knocked a picture frame off the wall. He was trying to fix it and sliced himself up pretty badly."

"Oh, dear," the butler murmured. "What do you need?"

Bruce rattled off his mental list and Alfred immediately walked down the hall.

"Give me two minutes, Master Bruce."

Nodding, although he knew Alfred didn't see it, Bruce turned around and went back to the bathroom. Dick was sitting in the same spot but was hunched over and crushing his right hand against his chest. The teenager's eyes were closed, his face was pale and he was mumbling to himself.

"Idiot, can't look at dumb pictures without crying, can't get angry without breaking something, can't even remember what a trapeze feels like."

"Dick, it's okay to be upset."

The comment startled the boy and his eyes flipped open. At the same time, he unconsciously straightened up and lost his balance. His head went back, his feet went up and there was a loud 'thunk'.

"Dick!"

Bruce had lunged for the legs that had flown into the air and caught the slim ankles. But some part of his ward's body had hit the bottom or side of the bathtub. Frowning at his failure, Bruce looked over the side of the tub. Dick was lying on his back, desperately trying to pull air into his lungs. His eyes were clear and there was no blood behind his head and Bruce released a sigh of relief.

Gently, Bruce grabbed Dick's upper arms and pulled him up. He began rubbing the teen's back, hoping to restore his breathing quickly. It worked; air easily began flowing in and out of his body after only a few seconds.

"Are you okay, chum?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"It was my fault, I startled you."

"You were just so quiet! I didn't even hear you come in!"

"You can do that, too," Bruce stated with a slight grin. "Sometimes Batman almost doesn't even hear Robin during patrol. And you're good at sneaking up on criminals."

"Okay," Dick said with a shrug.

"The floor might be a better spot," Bruce commented.

Dick slid off the edge of the tub and Bruce sat down beside him.

At that moment, Alfred walked in with his arms full of supplies.

"I included a bowl of water, sir, and washcloths. I'll be…nearby…if you need me."

The butler glanced once at Dick, placed the supplies on the floor for Bruce then left to clean up the mess in the bedroom.

"Alright, kiddo, let's patch you up," Bruce stated.

Dick instantly held out his right hand. The towel wrapped around it was soaked with blood. Shaking his head, Bruce unwound the material and dipped a washcloth in the bowl of water. The teenager flinched when the man began cleaning the wounds but didn't make any noise that indicated pain.

"You were at the circus, right?" the boy suddenly asked. "When it happened, I mean?"

Bruce nodded as he dropped the washcloth and grabbed the tweezers. He was focused on the small hand but he could hear the sadness in his ward's voice.

"Did I…"

There was a long pause. After pulling a tiny piece of glass out of the boy's thumb, Bruce looked up and waited for Dick to continue.

But the teen didn't. He was staring at the wall above Bruce's head, a faraway look in his eyes, and unconsciously chewing on his bottom lip.

The man decided to let it go, something he wouldn't have done if Dick was his old self. He looked down at his ward's hand again and grimaced. The next shard was the largest and was going to hurt.

"Sorry," he murmured as he grasped the piece of glass with the tweezers. It was stuck in the boy's palm, where the deepest slice was, and Bruce couldn't decide whether to pull it out quickly and get it over with or take it slow.

A single, wheezing word made the decision for him.

"Go."

Swiftly, the man slid the crimson fragment out. Dick drew in a sharp gulp of air and tried to pull his hand in to relieve the pain. Bruce, however, kept a firm grip. The smaller pieces of glass would move around if the position was altered. Since he already knew where most of them were, Bruce wanted his patient to remain still.

"Did I…" Dick began again and, again, the man looked up at the boy's face.

"Just ask, chum."

"Did I get to fly?" he asked quietly after another lengthy pause. "Mom said…" Dick choked on the words and stopped talking.

"Yes, kiddo, you flew. You were amazing, you looked perfect and the entire audience was on their feet."

"She said…it was my debut?"

"It was, Dick. The night I went was the first night the circus was in town. While the three of you were climbing the ladders to the platforms, the ring master announced that it was the debut of both you and your signature move. His voice was full of pride and all the other performers had gathered around the outside of the ring to watch."

"Did I do it? My signature move?"

Bruce grinned as he stared into his ward's eyes. The light-blue circles were full of pain but outlined with curiosity.

"The quadruple backflip," the man replied. "I didn't think it was possible. I even counted the revolutions, just to be sure. You made it look so easy and your timing was perfect. Right after you completed your fourth rotation, you straightened your body, reached toward your dad and latched onto his wrists without a hitch. It was amazing."

Bruce returned his gaze to Dick's hand and continued picking out the tiny shards of glass. He heard a quiet sniffle but decided to let that go, also. Bruce Wayne bottled up emotions but Dick Grayson needed to let everything out. So, he ignored the soft gasps of sadness and, several minutes later, pulled out the last piece.

"Legs," the man commanded lightly, and the boy straightened them out.

Before using the tweezers on Dick's shins and knees, Bruce used the gauze to wrap his ward's entire hand. The gasp he heard this time was full of pain instead of sadness.

"Sorry," the man murmured again. He finished wrapping and looked at the boy's face.

"There aren't very many pieces in your legs, chum. We can do it quickly or we can wait for the pain in your hand to recede. Either one is fine with me."

"Let's just get it over with," Dick sighed. "Sorry about this – the frame, the glass, taking valuable time away from…whatever you were doing."

"You have no reason to apologize. I wasn't doing anything important."

That was a lie, Batman had been searching for any leads on Bookworm, but Dick didn't need to know that. Bruce had been coming up for lunch anyway so it was actually a half-truth, not a complete lie.

"Is that why I chose Robin?"

Dick abruptly changed the subject and Bruce was a little confused. Did the boy not know…of course he didn't.

"The note…she said…I mean…"

"Your mother called you her 'little Robin'," the man answered when Dick stopped talking. "When you became a crime-fighter, you chose that name to honor them. Is that what you were asking?"

He received a nod but nothing else. Turning his attention to Dick's legs, Bruce began picking out the glass. The process was completed in less than three minutes and there were only a few places that needed to be covered with gauze.

"Thanks," Dick whispered as Bruce finished taping the last piece on the boy's knee.

Looking up again, the man stated, "You're welcome. Ready for lunch?"

Dick shrugged in response and ran his uninjured hand through his messy hair.

"I can bring you a tray and you can eat in here, if you want."

"No, I don't want to be anti-social," the boy replied with a half-grin.

His attempt at humor fell flat but the man answered anyway.

"That, kiddo, has never been in your nature," Bruce commented with a slight smirk.

He stood up, grasped his ward's left hand and pulled him to his feet. Then, the man who could induce fear into a criminal with a simple glare, carefully slung his arm around the boy's shoulder, squeezed once, and led him out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: There is a part in the middle that refers to an episode in the TV show "Batman". It's 1x32 "The Riddler's False Notion". It was written by Dick Carr so the credit goes to him.

* * *

**The next day:**

"Can we train today?" Dick asked hopefully. "My head feels fine and it's been three days since the library."

"I don't know, chum," Bruce replied, sounding a little hesitant.

"Just give me a chance, Bruce! Please!"

"Okay," the man responded, against his better judgement. "But just a light sparring match. Nothing dangerous."

Nodding in excitement, the teenager stood up and stated, "Race you!"

He took off like a rocket, sprinting toward the study door and the Bat-poles hidden inside. Bruce was there a mere three seconds after his ward but Dick was already jumping onto his Bat-pole and disappearing.

Shaking his head, with a slight grin resting on his face, the millionaire strode to his Bat-pole. Four seconds later he was Batman, in the Batcave and staring at Robin in astonishment. The boy was already on the training mat, bouncing lightly on his toes with impatience racing through his light-blue eyes.

"Master Batman, might I suggest no gloves for this round."

Alfred's sentence was a statement, not a question. Batman had already decided to do just that, so he nodded in the general direction of his butler.

"Okay, Robin," the Caped Crusader declared, "we're doing light contact only. I don't know how much you remember so we're not using the sparring gloves. They're too bulky to use since it's your first time. Ready?"

They were standing six feet apart on the training mat. The teen immediately nodded his head in answer to the man's question. Batman raised his fists and Robin instinctively dropped into a defensive stance.

"Good," Batman grunted with a satisfied nod. "You attack first."

The Boy Wonder didn't hesitate. Launching himself at his partner, he swung his right hand toward the man's face. The punch was easily blocked and Batman was shocked at the sloppiness of the attack. Maybe his ward wasn't ready to fight; maybe he needed some retraining time first.

"I…" Batman began but was interrupted by a quick jab to the stomach.

He grinned. Robin had faked a sloppy opening move, causing his opponent to underestimate him. The Caped Crusader was going to have a slight bruise from that hit. The teenager was holding back, but the contact wasn't at all light.

"Defense," Batman ordered and Robin immediately backed up.

It was the man's turn to fake and the boy uncharacteristically fell for it. The left hook disappeared right before it made contact. Robin automatically leaned away from the hit and Batman swept his partner's legs out from underneath him.

The Boy Wonder hit the ground hard with an abnormal lack of athleticism. However, he unconsciously rolled backwards over his shoulders and popped up. Batman instantly noticed that the excitement in his eyes had been replaced by something akin to anger. But Robin had never become angry during training. Ever.

"We're done," the man commanded just as the boy went on the offensive again.

Batman had no choice, unless he wanted to receive a broken nose, which he didn't. He twisted to his right, trying to block the punch with his shoulder. It worked, but he was going to have a bruise there, also. The Caped Crusader then found himself in a position that many a criminal had been subjected to recently.

Robin was sitting on Batman's broad shoulders, his legs squeezing the man's throat and his fists flying around the hero's head.

"Rob…" Batman gasped. "Stop…chum."

Again the older hero had no choice, unless he wanted to pass out, which – again – he didn't. Instead of instinctively grasping at the boy's legs, he reached back and wrapped his large hands around the younger hero's biceps. He found and pushed the pressure point and Robin's arms dropped. The movement surprised the teenager and his hold on Batman's neck loosened slightly.

Batman took advantage, flipping the boy over his own head and gently tossing him away. Gently wasn't exactly the right word, though. It was difficult to be careful when he had to get the small but strong legs off his neck.

He was expecting Robin to easily execute a handspring or flip or rollout of some kind. Instead, the boy ungracefully rotated past the point of an injury-saving trick and landed on his stomach. His forehead hit the mat hard and his body went limp.

"ROBIN!" Batman shouted in dismay.

The man knelt down and carefully rolled the boy onto his back. Robin's eyes were closed and a bump was already forming on his forehead.

"Master Batman!" Alfred exclaimed, suddenly appearing on the training mat. "What did you do, sir?!"

"I was careful; he was supposed to do some kind of trick out of it, like he always does!" Batman stated guiltily, glaring up at his butler.

"Obviously you weren't careful enough, sir," Alfred almost snapped.

"Wha' happened," Robin groaned and both men looked down.

"How do you feel?" Batman asked.

"Master Batman knocked you out, young sir," Alfred replied at the same time.

This time Batman's glare was much darker, but the butler stood his ground without even flinching. The Boy Wonder slowly opened his eyes and they were full of confusion.

"No, Bookworm," Robin said softly. "Did you catch him? Sorry I didn't stop him. His henchman surprised me from behind."

The men stared at him in shock.

"What do you remember, Master Robin?" Alfred inquired when he realized that Batman wasn't going to say anything.

"Library, Bookworm and…an angel?"

"Lisa," Batman said with a small grin.

There was a pause and then Alfred cleared his throat. The Caped Crusader glanced up, noticed the look in the other man's eyes and sighed.

"What happened the last time we fought Joker, chum?"

Robin's eyes narrowed. Did Batman want him to apologize? He wasn't going to; the man deserved it. But his older partner was staring at him, his mouth in a grim line although his eyes were filled with concern.

"We fought six henchmen – well, you did – and I took Joker down. I punched out two of his teeth and may have…um…_accidentally_ broken his arm."

The last four words were tinged with guilt but, to Robin's complete surprise, Batman grinned.

"And what about the last time we fought Riddler?"

Where this was going, the Boy Wonder had no idea. But he sighed and began explaining.

"He pushed me off the ledge of the Chessman building but you tossed down a Bat-a-rang that I caught with my teeth."

Robin lifted his hand and rubbed his jaw.

"Not my favorite rescue ever," he mumbled.

"Good, Robin!" Batman exclaimed and the Boy Wonder looked at him in disbelief.

"What's going on?" the teenager demanded, slightly concerned with the direction of the conversation.

"One more, kiddo," Batman replied, hoping that his ward's memory would be able to reach back this far.

"Tell me the name of any of the clowns in Haly's Circus."

Robin sucked in a breath of both anger and grief. Why would Batman – Bruce – his _guardian_ unexpectedly bring up memories of Dick's former life?

"What's with the interrogation?" the teen growled, ignoring the question that opened a wound in his heart.

Batman wanted to stop, he could both see and hear the anguish, but he needed to know if Robin had any long-term memories.

With an internal sigh of regret, the Caped Crusader repeated, "Tell me the name of…"

"SHUT UP!" Robin shouted. "Why would you…how could you…what gives you the right…"

The rambling phrases trailed off when tears filled the boy's eyes. He couldn't understand why Batman would want to hurt him like this. What had he done that was so wrong that his partner had decided to tear open his heart?

Robin suddenly sat up and jumped to his feet. He sprinted toward the Bat-poles but turned around just before shooting himself up to the Manor.

"Harry," he whispered, his tone filled with sorrow, and then he was gone.

"That went well," Alfred almost snapped again, the words outlined with unexpected sarcasm. "What were you _thinking_, sir?!"

"I needed to know how much he remembered!" Batman countered defensively. "I couldn't ask him something simple, like what happened or the names of his parents or anything else that we've already told him! What was I supposed to do?"

"Perhaps asking him to identify his favorite animal or his favorite food or something along those lines would have been more appropriate, _sir_. Those are things that he knows _because_ of his time in the circus. You could have asked, Master Batman, without directly talking about the circus!"

Shaking his head, Alfred had made a good point, Batman strode toward his Bat-pole.

"I think some alone time might be good for him, sir," the butler stated wisely.

The statement stopped the Caped Crusader and he turned around.

"Fine, I'll search for Bookworm," he grumbled and strode to the Bat-computer instead.

* * *

Dick couldn't understand it, he had no idea why Batman had deliberately hurt him. The man had never brought up the circus without some kind of gentle, lead-up statement. He had never just abruptly asked a question and the boy was stunned.

"Obviously we didn't catch Bookworm," the fourteen-year-old muttered as he sat down on his bed. "Maybe that's why – he's mad at me and that question was my punishment. But that was more than just a reprimand or physical labor. That was…_cruel_."

Batman had never been downright cruel. The man was sometimes harsh but had never, _ever_, gone this far.

The teenager sat quietly for a few moments as thoughts of the circus danced around in his mind. Visions of various performances slid through his thoughts and tears began streaming down his face. Tears that he didn't even realize were there.

"I'll make it right; I'll catch Bookworm myself."

The tone was full of determination. Batman was clearly extremely disappointed, so Robin was going to fix whatever horrible thing he had done wrong. Dick decided to wait until lunch time to go down to the Batcave. Both Bruce and Alfred would be upstairs so the teen's disappearance wouldn't be noticed for at least twenty minutes.

Three quiet knocks reached his ears. It was probably Bruce, but Dick didn't want to hear anything else from him right now. So, the boy remained quiet. The man would knock again and then leave; that's what he always did when Dick was upset.

But Bruce surprised his ward again. He opened the door and walked in without hesitation. The man didn't even stop; he strode right over to Dick's bed and sat down next to him.

Silence reigned. Dick was furious and Bruce wasn't sure how to begin. Alfred, after watching Batman berate himself for half an hour, had insisted that he go apologize. That was one of the hardest things to do. So hard, in fact, that he had only done it twice. In all the years that he and Dick – or Batman and Robin – had been together, the man had expressed regret exactly two times.

But maybe that was because his ward and partner knew when he made mistakes and agreed with Bruce's, or Batman's, punishments. Usually the boy just accepted whatever happened, although sometimes he would grumble or glare or yell for a few minutes.

"Get out," Dick suddenly commanded. His voice was low and his tone was full of anger.

Bruce didn't even flinch so the teenager growled and stood up. He strode to the window, practically threw it open and climbed out onto the roof.

"Dick," Bruce stated loudly, although he knew it was too late. The boy could move quickly, even when climbing up a roof, and was probably already out of sight.

The man sighed and made a decision. The only way Dick had to get back in to the Manor was through the window he had just left behind. So, Bruce walked to the window, climbed onto the ledge and pulled himself out. He had been right – his ward was already gone.

"Dick!" he yelled.

There was no answer and Bruce wasn't surprised. It was rather windy and his words had probably been swept away.

Dick, however, heard the yell and narrowed his eyes. Bruce was on the roof. It was windy and Bruce couldn't fly around like Batman, but he was on the roof anyway. Rolling his eyes, the teen decided to return to the window. He would never forgive himself if his guardian and partner died while attempting to climb the roof of Wayne Manor.

Turning around, he easily made his way down from the top level of the mansion. Bruce would be on the next story – all bedrooms were on the second floor – and was probably stuck. Six seconds later, Dick sat down and grasped the edge of the roof. He twisted around and lowered himself to the next level.

He had been correct: his guardian was sitting right outside the window, seemingly frozen in place. Dick rolled his eyes again and picked his way down to his room.

"Go inside, Bruce, don't be an idiot."

"After you," the man replied stubbornly.

"Yeah, right," the boy stated sarcastically. "You're closer and less stable. Go."

The last word was a demand and Bruce sighed. Dick had made two good points that he couldn't ignore. So, he grabbed the sides of the window frame that was right next to him and slid back inside.

Dick was in before Bruce could even turn around to look for him. There was a dark scowl on the young face and he marched past his guardian without saying a word.

"I…" Bruce began.

"_I_ don't want to hear it," Dick interrupted as he stopped by his open door. "Out!" he nearly shouted.

"Just let me explain, chum."

"There's no excuse for those words, Bruce. What you asked was cruel and unnecessary and way too far for a punishment. You didn't even give me any indication that you were about to talk about the circus!"

"At least I…"

"Didn't talk about what happened to my _parent_s?!" Dick snarled. "Yeah, that was really great of you, Bruce. I should totally be thanking you right now."

"You lost your memory!" the man shouted, annoyed with his ward's behavior. "I needed to make sure your long-term memory was intact!"

"And you couldn't do that by asking me what my favorite animal is, or what my favorite food is or something like that?!" Dick yelled back, unknowingly echoing Alfred's earlier words to Bruce.

Running a hand through his hair, the man stated, "I didn't think of that and I was wrong to just bring it up. I'm sorry that I did it with no warning but I'm not sorry that I asked it. At least I know your memories are back!"

"Because tearing a hole in my heart is totally worth it," Dick whispered angrily. "Just get out. Please."

"You couldn't remember anything, kiddo! I didn't think asking about a clown would be so hard for you to answer."

"That's right, you didn't think. I can't deal with this right now. If you're not going to leave, I will."

Dick ran out the door and sprinted down the stairs. He raced into the study, twisted the switch and flew to his Batpole. Robin was in the Batcave and climbing onto the Batcycle before Bruce even made it to the study.

Batman landed on the cushion just in time to hear the fading rumble of the Batcycle. That immediately concerned him. Robin was good at driving that vehicle but if he was in an accident or was pulled over…. He was fourteen!

The man quickly climbed into the Batmobile and roared out of the tunnel. Robin couldn't be too far ahead and the Batcycle could never outrun the Batmobile.

* * *

**Eighteen minutes later:**

Robin parked the Batcycle behind the library and climbed off. Grabbing a Bat-a-rang and some Bat-rope, he walked to the back entrance. He hooked the two together then threw it up. It caught on the ledge of the second floor, the location of the fiction section. The boy remembered he had been there and had seen Bookworm. And the best place to look for clues was the scene of the crime.

The Boy Wonder was suddenly standing on the thin ledge. He hadn't even realized that he had been Bat-climbing his way up the building. The window next to him was open so he slipped inside and found himself in the fiction section.

"Okay," he whispered, thinking aloud as he slowly walked to the last aisle. "I was here, pulling out my Bat-communicator."

Robin strode to the middle of the aisle, stopped and looked around.

"Bookworm appeared from…somewhere…and distracted me. His goon came up behind me and…no, I called Batman first. I told him nothing was here and _then_ Bookworm appeared. The guy just grinned at me and then something hit my head."

The teenager reached up and rubbed the back of his head. He scanned his surroundings, searching the shelves, the walls and the floors for any visual clues. Nothing popped out at him and he sighed. Finding Bookworm was going to be difficult.

* * *

Batman didn't know it yet, but he had gone to the wrong spot. He had assumed that Robin would go where he usually did when he was really upset: somewhere high. The highest place he knew of was Wayne Enterprises and the Caped Crusader was currently on the elevator, riding up to the roof and hoping his partner was there.

But the teen wasn't. The roof was flat and only had three air conditioning units. It took Batman exactly sixty-seven seconds to discover that Robin wasn't there. Where else would the boy go?

A punishment. Robin's words resonated in Batman's mind and he realized that his partner thought the question about the circus was some sort of punishment. For what? The Caped Crusader attempted to get in the head of the Boy Wonder. Why would the teenager think he was being punished?

"We didn't catch Bookworm," he murmured. "He thinks he's in trouble; he doesn't remember that he lost his memory."

Closing his eyes, Batman growled in irritation. First the boy didn't remember anything about his life. Now, he remembered his life but didn't know that he had been completely lost two days ago.

He decided to think of a way to fix this while in the Batmobile. Robin would be at the library, Batman was sure of it, because the boy would want to catch the villain. The Caped Crusader knew his partner: the Boy Wonder thought his older partner was disappointed and neither Robin nor Dick could live with that.

So, he would go after Bookworm in order to make things right, to regain Batman's approval and prove he was still good enough to be a crime-fighter. But the man had spent two days searching for the villain, using _Bat-machines_, and had no information. Robin wasn't going to do any better by going to a cold crime scene.

Shaking his head in consternation, Batman climbed into the Batmobile and took off in the direction of the Gotham City Library.

* * *

**Gotham City Library:**

"Robin?"

The Boy Wonder turned around when the quiet sound reached his ears. There stood the head librarian, Mrs. Stout, and she was studying him curiously.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Did Batman help you remember everything?"

Her statement confused him. What 'everything' was Batman supposed to help him remember?

"I don't know what you mean, ma'am," he replied softly. "I'm just here to look for clues. Do you have information about what happened here with Bookworm?"

Mrs. Stout's expression went from curiosity to surprise.

"Yes, Robin, I do. Both you and Batman were here two days ago because of an anonymous tip I received regarding criminal activity. Batman was searching in the history section and you were over here in fiction. The next thing I knew, you were sitting on the floor, completely confused, and he was trying to convince you to go to the Batcave."

"I was…confused?"

"Batman said you were hit on the head but you were going to be fine. The rest of us could tell, however, that you didn't remember anything."

"Anything about what had happened?"

"Well, yes but it was more than that, Robin. You didn't remember anything at all."

"_At all!_"

"You refused to go anywhere with Batman – you thought he might be a criminal – and you looked so anxious. But he kept saying that the only place he could explain things was the Batcave. I was so sure that you weren't going to go with him but then Lisa stepped in. She spoke to you, but I wasn't close enough to hear what she was saying. After about a minute you got up and left with Batman. You don't remember any of that?"

"I remember getting hit in the head here and then waking up in the Batcave this morning."

Mrs. Stout gasped. "But you and Batman were here two days ago, Robin!"

"I've lost two days of my life?" the Boy Wonder murmured. "Batman never said…"

He trailed off as Bruce's words entered his mind: "You lost your memory!"

The questions about Joker and Riddler, the satisfaction on his older partner's face when he gave the correct answers, Alfred standing beside them with relief in his eyes, the circus….

"He was just checking," Robin whispered. "It wasn't malicious, he just wanted to make sure."

"Malicious, Robin?" Mrs. Stout asked quietly.

He had forgotten she was there, so the question startled him.

"It's nothing, Mrs. Stout, never mind. Thank you for your help."

The woman nodded as the teenager turned around and strode toward the open window. She watched him climb out and disappear in less than three seconds, wondering what the Boy Wonder had meant but knowing she would never find out.

Six minutes later, Mrs. Stout was at the front desk, going through some files. She looked up when she heard a quiet swishing sound. Surprise flashed across her face: Batman had just entered the library.

Then he was in front of her with a touch of concern in his eyes.

"Batman! I thought you would be with Robin!"

The concern faded and his eyes widened slightly, although she didn't see it.

"You've seen him?" the Caped Crusader inquired softly.

"Yes, he was just here. Upstairs, in the fiction section."

Batman turned toward the stairs, but she stopped him before he even began walking.

"He already left, Batman. I came down here right after he disappeared and that was several minutes ago."

"Did he say where he was going?" the hero asked as he turned back to her.

"No, but he did say that something wasn't 'malicious'. I don't know if that helps at all, but he did look very thoughtful when he said it."

"Thank you for your help, Mrs. Stout," Batman stated.

"One more thing, Batman, but I'm sure you already know this. He remembered being here looking for criminal activity and then he remembers waking up this morning. But, like I said, you probably…"

The woman trailed off. There was no reason to continue her sentence because the Caped Crusader was striding out the door.

"So, he remembers his entire life except for the last two days," Batman mused aloud as he climbed into the Batmobile.

"I guess that sounds about right," a young voice stated from behind the vehicle.

Batman immediately climbed out and strode to the back end of the Batmobile. There was Robin, sitting on the bumper with his arms folded across his chest. The Batcycle was nowhere in sight but the man wasn't really worried about that. The boy stood up as soon as he saw his partner.

"Soooooo, what have we been doing these last couple of days?"

"We should return…"

"Just the short version, Batman," Robin interrupted. "I don't need to go to the Batcave to hear the short version. Unless, of course, you're going to say something that will expose our identities. If that's the case then obviously we have to go to the Batcave because we don't want our identities to be compromised and since you said I remember my whole life then that must mean that I didn't before today and so maybe you have to talk about my earlier life so we _do_ have to go to the Batcave because we certainly can't do that here and are you ever going to stop my rambling and _just tell me what happened_?!"

Batman unexpectedly laughed and Robin scowled.

"Sorry, chum, I didn't mean to laugh."

"Yes, you did," the boy growled. "What did I say that was so funny that it made _Batman_ burst out laughing?"

"It wasn't because your statement was funny, it was a release of tension."

"Right, because that's how you always release your tension," Robin retorted as he rolled his eyes.

"Kiddo, you had no idea who you even _were_ two days ago. You didn't remember anything at all, including your early life."

"Okay, good short version. Now, why can't I remember the last two days?"

"I don't know, Robin."

"How did I lose my memory? No, never mind, Bookworm's henchman hit me in the back of the head. That did it, right?"

Batman nodded and Robin continued, "Then how did I regain my memory? I woke up to you asking questions!"

The Caped Crusader dropped his eyes to the ground, slightly ashamed at what he had to tell his young partner.

"Well?"

"We fought…"

"_WHAT?!_"

"No, we were just training, lightly sparring."

"Oh," Robin said with a quiet sigh of relief.

"You got a little rough and ended up on my shoulders, choking me with your legs. I had to get you off, so I used a pressure point then tossed you over my head."

"Oh, please," Robin stated with another roll of his eyes. "Like tossing me over your head is going to knock me out."

"It did."

"_WHAT?!_" the Boy Wonder exclaimed again.

"I guess maybe you forgot how to tumble out of a precarious situation. Perhaps it was because you didn't remember how to do things that you had done in your earlier life."

"Maybe we _should_ go back to the Batcave," Robin mumbled.

"We can but let me finish first. You didn't do anything acrobatic, you just hit the mat face first. Your forehead could use some Bat-ice."

"Then I woke up," Robin commented, and Batman nodded.

There was a pause and then the teenager sighed. He dropped his arms and gave his partner a Robin-sized Bat-glare.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, but I'm not sorry I yelled at you."

"That's a bit contradictory, chum," Batman stated with a slight grin.

"I shouldn't have done it, but you deserved it," Robin grumbled.

"I agree with both parts of that statement."

"Any leads on Bookworm?"

"No, and I've been using all the usual Bat-machines for the last two days."

"Well, let's go figure it out. Race you to the Batcave!"

The last sentence was more of a shout and the Boy Wonder took off, sprinting toward the back of the library.

"Or," Batman shouted back, "we could put the Batcycle on the Batmobile and…never mind."

The last two words were growled; Robin was already out of sight and, therefore, out of hearing range. Suddenly, the Batcycle flew around the corner and Batman nearly jumped into the Batmobile. There was no way he was going to let Robin beat him home.

THE END

* * *

Thanks for reading! :) Also, I know it's a rather jerky and sudden ending but I didn't have any other ideas. Maybe it will be continued later, maybe not.


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